


Criminal Minds: Collected Drabbles

by melliyna



Category: Criminal Minds, NCIS, Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Drabble Collection, Kid Fic, Multi, cm: family verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-10
Updated: 2010-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-07 21:04:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melliyna/pseuds/melliyna





	Criminal Minds: Collected Drabbles

Katie Cole is entirely certain that well, there's no way in hell that anyone is ever going to believe this. Ever. And she really shouldn't be feeling so envious of Haley Hotchner right about now, but really. She's not to going to finish that thought. Or ever forgive David Rossi for picking this karaoke bar. Or maybe pay tribute to him forever and a day - it's a bit of a shifting sentiment.

Who knew that all it would take was a bar just above a dive in Oklahoma City, concluding a case in a way in which everyone lived, David Rossi and the Chief of Police in a generous mood and someone deciding to drag Hotch on stage. After piling him with booze, which Katie is fairly sure is Cruelty To Baby SSA's but also kind of hysterically funny.

She feels bad about that, but anyone trained by David Rossi should know better. Katie likes David Rossi the profiler and agent, but she's entirely unsure about David Rossi the man, whose ego tends to proceed him but as the weeks and months go on, she finds herself warming to him which is a surprise. Hotchner though, Hotchner she likes (but she's really glad she doesn't have his job of being in the middle of Gideon and Rossi. Really glad). She just isn't sure she ever needed this image in her head.

Aaron Hotchner, The Man (in a suit) is not only singing, he's singing like he could be a band with talent. Real talent. And nice moves, in fact. Rossi is looking like the rug has just been pulled out from under him (maybe it's the singing voice - she's heard Rossi's voice once. It is not an experience that one would want to repeat) and as though he's just hit blackmail gold mine. Of the Eureka Goldfields variety.

-

David Rossi is a legend in the FBI, in the public and hell, he'll cop to his own mind as well. You can't be the kind of profiler he is without being sure of your own talents, to carry them with pride and perhaps, a little step above pride. And despite what he's said, what he's learned, ambition still burns in him. So, the Arnold case comes along and he goes off on his own, get's himself kicked around by the unsub and still manages to solve the case. He'd take the dressing down, then go off smugly in to the night to find himself a nice jazz place somewhere, still glowing.

What's new this time, is that the guilt might be stinging more than the damn bruises and those cuts from falling on to a vase broken in the struggle. Because every punch, every moment of this fight he walked in to alone and with a reckless plan of glory suddenly glory seems idiotic. Because he knows he's going to catch hell for this. Oh does he ever know he's going to catch hell from this, just as he was getting used to the idea of this team and how it's gone beyond team, beyond friends, beyond colleagues. The word family feels strange on his tongue, strange and undeserved.

Morgan just looks angry, even when Rossi can see that he expected it, anticipated it. He's fairly sure he's not even close to deserving trust from Morgan. Garcia, who visits in hospital and delivers a lecture that blisters his ears off. He even manages to feel ashamed. Reid, Reid just avoids him. JJ and Prentiss both visit and listen, but then Emily was always good at forgiving. And Aaron, Aaron doesn't say anything which might even make it worse. He just makes sure Dave is fine and that when the hospital does let him out, he's got a ride home. Morgan comes to check up on him.

When he hears them worrying, Rossi wonders when he learned to feel abashed. He wants to make it up to them, without being sure he can. Because he's damn good at what he does, he should have known better. It burns him, but what might burn worse is that he disappointed his family. Disappointed these kids.

He's not going to be another Gideon.

-

"Rossi. Dave Rossi. He likes to kick it old style and snark around the catering tent."

There's a story about Dave Rossi, the bass guitarist that he once threw a fridge out the window of a seventh story hotel room but Hotch made him go downstairs, say sorry (to the manager and the pool clerk he'd freaked the fuck out) and leave a substantial tip. The fact that he'd done it dressed in his stage clothes made it all that much more amusing (especially as it included the top hat) but when he plays, the stage goes still and the fans go off, screaming their lungs out.

There's a story about Reid (Rolling Stone calls him 'the fucking cutest little pipe-cleaner with eyes in music') who fits in around the drums, in his own oddball way that he once kicked a drug habit, then used his sobriety to fuel his genius. It doesn't have much water, because what drummer finds his best work cold turkey but strangely, it's the truth.

"That's Spencer, the one who takes the music by the sinews and shapes them to his will in ways us mortals can only dream of."

The crowd starts screaming, hands, arms moving in the beginnings of the rhythm of the mosh pit, of the music. It's a full house and they like it.

"And over here, you can find Mr Derek Morgan our lead guitarist and sometime man with the hat who finds tackling cars a little boring these days but then, he is Superman."

There's a story about Derek Morgan, in which he kicks down doors, leaps tall buildings in a single bound and once tackled a train. Truthfully, it's a reputation built in volunteer work, muscles and more volunteer work. But Derek strums, at home here.

"Hello there, Baltimore"

"Derek, behave or I'll show them pictures of you asleep"

"Damn, low blow" Morgan shoots back, waving his guitar mock threateningly, as ripple of amusement (and wolf whistles) sweeps through the crowd.

"And for those of you wondering, we're welcoming back Emily Prentiss on vocals and lyrics. She's also responsible for making sure we all win those awards."

"Don't forget the macros, Sir"

"How could I ever have scrubbed that from my mind, Prentiss I have no idea."

There's a smile in his voice as he says it and then he turns back to the crowd, facing the lights and the masses.

"And I'm Aaron Hotchner and this is the BAU Knights, with 'Ghosts of Lancelot'"

-

The fleet knew Captain Hotchner's (USS Quantico, Starfleet) reputation, of course though it varied between 'hard-ass' and 'dry sense of humour with a mother hen streak a mile wide' depending on whether the person propping up the bar while telling the story had served long enough with him to get a glimpse at the depths.

Rossi however, everyone knew about. Brilliant cranky badger man who was currently irritating the hell out of Jim Kirk (or maybe they were enjoying themselves. Interpretations varied among the watching crew members, moment by moment. It was possible that bets were being made), mostly because he was sounding off about the problems in the field of temporal causality, but getting it right. With style.

"Why are you talking to me about paradox theory before I've had a drink?"

"I don't know Kirk. Maybe because I like to see your brain scramble to catch up while I am not under the influence."

Somewhere in the bar, Captain Aaron Hotchner was sitting beside his wife Haley. They were smiling and generally only keeping half an eye on the scene before them. Somewhere in the corner, Communications Officer Jennifer 'JJ' Jareau had challenged a group of Andorians to darts, in between teasing remarks at First Officer Derek Morgan who had apparently been asked to dance by (at last count), half the bar, though once a woman wearing brightly patterned glasses and a science officers badge called him, he most certainly went.

And somewhere, Emily Prentiss had struck up a conversation with an old friend. "So, Uhura - is the Enterprise as amazing as you thought it would be?"

-

Ducky would admit that he'd never met anyone like young Penelope Garcia. Not even Abbey was dangerous and adorable in the same degree that Abbey's FBI Friend certainly appeared to be, even in the brief impression given as she picked up Abbey at the end of the day at various times. They would walk off, cooing over programming language, technology and sometimes, Ugly Dolls.

Abbey was a past master at cooing over things that would not occur to others, of course. You learned that part of her, straight off. It's the other things that you start to know as a friend, that long untangling of story, personality and quirks. When you become a family, you find the faults and somehow, it matters less to see.

Penelope Garcia is to him at first, a trusting, innocent girl who is fond of pretty colours and is almost utterly guilelessly, cute. Of course there's something else there, something under the surface but it eludes him, somehow. Ducky asks Abbey, she ducks her head and smiles.

"Pen? She doesn't open up to many people, Ducky. And besides, she's a tech kitten and a goddess. A goddess does not confide."

A lot of things start to add up. The way in which she mentions family. The way Ducky can recognize the ruthlessness in Penelope Garcia, when it comes to those she calls and terms her family. That the fluffy toys might be a buffer, an antidote, just as he has his but like Abbey, it does not ever mean that she can't be dangerous. Can't be strong. Maybe that is why they are drawn to each other, those two. He wonders about Hotch ("Oh, that's just Mom, calling. He's totally cool with this, but Uncle Dave is so very much not due to being cranky" which had confused everyone, pronoun usage included), about her family and about why and who, she lets in.

Just like, he supposes, others must wonder about Abbey.

-

There are galling things in life and there's discovering that the mastery of the dance of the kitchen does not translate to the dance floor. Dave can navigate the rhythm of a professional kitchen - between the waiter who will drop something, the desert chef who likes to throw pots at wait staff, apprentices, suppliers and once, a customer who'd objected to the menu he'd found his space. Dave had never bellowed but he had developed the fine art of biting sarcastic retorts and strategic use of knife work.

Aaron's family dances. He's seen some of the photographs, in hesitating conversations over lunch, the few times they'd talked about the kids formally but they found their way in the dialogue Dave and the younger man had been building up. Halting, still hesitant toddler steps to Dylan, a little girl with rainbows (and mermaid stickers, inexplicably) on her ballet shoes dancing to Waltz of the Sugarplum Fairy. And he listens and notes, because it will be important, Dave knows.

He's learning Aaron's family and the rhythm of the steps as they talk over lunch in various places, a lunch that becomes a regular thing and then turns in to dinners in which the conversation becomes easier and harder and Aaron starts to tease him about music again, with that glimpse of a wicked smile, with those kind eyes that are so elegantly and essentially Aaron Hotchner and wonders if Gideon ever knew what the fuck he'd lost.

When Aaron asks him to dance, it's in a quiet little place, not far from the DOJ that does damn good Syrian food, keeps a tattered rainbow sticker in the window and an outdoor dining area that they've somehow gotten to themselves. He does it with a joking note in his voice, but it's not, not really.

"Teach you how to dance, Rossi?"

"I told you. I'm not backing out now."

And Aaron is all grace, showing him how to lead and the proper way to waltz and Dave looks forward to find out how he learned that, how he learned where to put his hands and he can make Dave feels like he's back in his element, back in the kitchen.

-

Morgan actually hates this. The world is not right, it makes no sense. Hotch doesn't do this. He doesn't throw himself in to the middle of danger without a jacket, he stays back and delivers admonishments. Which Morgan listens to, every time and is sorry for it.

He trusts Hotch and wishes he didn't. It never hurt so much, with Gideon which was a fall he'd expected, planned for. Sure, it was painful and hard but everyone held together. Hotch held it together and Morgan could deal. He could look out for the others, because he knew that Hotch would be one who took care of it.

That day in New York, Morgan doesn't take it personally. There are barriers you put up, they get broken down and when you fail or feel you've failed, you find they aren't as broken as you thought they were. There's still some healing left to do, that's how it is. It doesn't mean much when you think about the times after those words in that gym with Carl Buford, during the trial and during quiet moments. Or the times after New York. The times Morgan sees the way Hotch is the leader of the time. The times he sees Hotch being there for this family they have - the care, the praise, the little things. Flowers (and books. Also memorably, small fuzzy soft toys) for Garcia, things of a butterfly themed nature for JJ. The way Reid finds his stock of candy replenished. Emily and slowly working out a movies exchange. The evenings, days and holidays they spend together.

In the face of this, Morgan feels sick, calling him out, even if he is worried. Worried about an absence of Hotch, worried about the scars and the medical report Emily wouldn't discuss, but you can guess from the way he's avoiding touches, eye contact and more besides. The way he's washing his hands, these days. But he can't let him leave. He can't let Hotch do that to this team, this family that needs him. His family needs him.

-

David Rossi built the BAU and Jason Gideon inhabits it so completely, sometimes it's as though he simply is the job, with no need for outside considerations or connections. You learn not to take it personally, but in those first few days it's raw as hell. Gideon the veteran, Gideon who joins them in that cramped basement and seems as comfortable there as he seems out of place, out of synch in the real world. Rossi gave him the lecture, showed him where things were but Gideon just didn't seem to care. He doesn't respond to invitations and the other members of the team start to edge around him, warily. Jason Gideon, to David Rossi is a study in someone going through the motions of humanity, except when he's working.

It's a studied kind of focused genius and it makes Rossi itchy. Then again, they both make each other tetchy and he's fairly sure that there's a way to do something about it, but frankly they can both work together like adults so it's better to keep it that way. Rossi knows Gideon is brilliant but he knows which one of them is better at the politics of the FBI. Gideon saves his manipulative skills for cases and for the team, in a strange kind of way.

That first day, though? The lines are drawn.

-

If it's Jason Gideon who mentored him, it's Hotch who made him feel at ease. Reid can see the words of Gideon but he's proud that he has gentled his brain in to remembering how Hotch showed him the physical and emotional dimensions of the BAU (particularly where the vending machine was. Reid appreciates the perspective of a vending machine and the resultant candy).

Spencer Reid. Shoes too new, awkward attempt at a suit and he didn't know then, what self conscious was, because to be self conscious is to be aware of the need to be self conscious. He shows up as a poached college graduate, part of a pilot program about civilian experts being bought in to the BAU and everyone, possibly especially Reid is wondering what to do with him.

That very first day Reid remembers candy, remembers the details of the case (all the words and phrases, all the syntax, all the way he stores things and pulls them apart later) and remembers the way Gideon draws him out and he sought him out. But then, Hotch (though he wasn't Hotch then, that comes in a later sequence of events. Just like JJ was unapproachable and Morgan, a prickly Morgan who was just Agent Morgan Who Kicks Down Doors and keeps his intelligence around him and Elle, who is Morgan's partner and sibling in arms and taking names) was the one who found him and asked after him, afterwards.

Those are the things Spencer Reid writes down.

 

-

The first rehearsal mornings are always an interesting one though with JJ Jareau dancing Giselle it is remarkable free of tantrums and shoe throwing which is something that Garcia always appreciates in a dancer. Even if she was the dancer who'd improvised on a composition of hers, Penelope Garcia is going to be gracious because after all, she'd improved it.

"Hey there JJ girl, how are we this sunny morning?"

JJ doesn't look up from her barre exercises but she gives Garcia a genuine smile as she lifts her leg in to a stretch. Over the other side a tall bean-pole lifts up his head with a smile and awkward hand-wave. Garcia mentally adds 'Spencer Reid, principal danseur and grace on legs (when in ballet shoes)' to her list of people already in the room.

"Happy to be back - I think I was beginning to hit the point in the cycle where I might have actually been enjoying day-time TV which frankly, is tragic. And Henry might have started to like it."

"How is Henry anyway?"

"Lovely. Growing. Discovering an interest in grabbing things."

"I remember that stage, oh yes indeed."

And Penelope Garcia nearly jumped out of her skin. Aaron Hotchner, former danseur himself and now director of the company had a habit of quiet appearances that you never entirely got used to. It was uncanny though Hotch, Penelope reflected was like that. There was a slight touch of cat in him somewhere. Though he and JJ had always understood each other in some inexplicable way.

"Please tell me it doesn't continue on the walking stage."

"I'm sorry to say JJ, it really does." A brief flash of a smile, before his face settled back in to business. "Is our other principal danseur on route yet?"

"Morgan said he'd been delayed by traffic but he's on route as we speak."

Garcia sighed with contentment. She always looked forward to working with Derek Morgan, especially when David Rossi was choreographer. He always managed to bring out the best in her music and the dancers contributions, despite an incredibly grumpy start. An incredibly grumpy start.

-

Chuck likes the weight of the uniform, though it isn't for the reasons the kids tease him about, now they've gotten old enough to tease. It's about knowing what your duties are, what you hold in your hands when you walk in to that cockpit.

And yeah, okay, it's a little about the uniform and getting girls. Or boys, he says with a smile at Issac who just looks back in a 'god Dad' way but his boys know they are loved. And it's good to come home to them, when he can.

He doesn't always get home as much as he'd like but he comes back because there's something about that jet in the pre-dawn light, the late night light or even sometimes, the mid morning sun when Chuck is all alone with the pre-flight checks. And then they come, in a line, in groups or in stages. But they come.

Sometimes, it's like being back in the air force all over again but this time his cargo is very very human. He doesn't know names but he knows which one shakes his hand, which one smiles, which one gives an awkward. Which one says hello. Which one salutes, in a sharp military way that might make him want to make an army/marines/air-force joke if he'd felt the guy was approachable enough to make such a joke but no sir, that guy? He had edges even with those who knew him.

When Jason Gideon disappears, Chuck isn't too surprised though he aches for the people he left behind. Reminds him too much of old wounds, old war stories that shouldn't ache so damn much right now. He might want to say something, but there's a part of him that is too damn old and proper to want to pry in to the stories of these people, let alone their scars and war stories. There are perhaps, things more horrible than coming home from a war. Because in his war, at least you can go home and stay there.

They always carry their own bags, but he makes sure to take them. Give them this, at least. When the young blonde who reminds him of Alyssa a little starts to show he slips her a congratulations and her smile is a beautiful thing.

When they come back, the first day after, still dressed in black, he wishes he could have been to the funeral. But he'll see them safe in to the sky, long as they need him, this particular payload of humanity.


End file.
